One Last Shot
by The-Sapphire-Phoenix
Summary: READ AFTER FULL CIRCLE! In this, the final chronicle in the Pirates of the Caribbean series, the entire Turner family sets sail for England to find Ryan Barbossa's father to uncover the method to breaking the curse he set on Catherine and Evans just befor


Pirates of the Caribbean 3: One Last Shot

Catherine Turner was not in a pleasant mood. While the four men sitting at the table in the Tortugan tavern with her laughed and joked, she simply stared sullenly into her still-full glass of liquor, occasionally swilling it around. After recovering from a violent fit of laughter, Ryan Evans put an arm around her waist and drew the young woman closer to him.  
"Come on, Catherine," he said kindly, his breath laced with the pungent smell of rum, "don't feel bad. We'll be back in Port Royal in just a couple of days, we'll get to see the family, work in the shop..." he trailed off. Catherine's brown eyes were still trained on the reddish-colored liquid in her tankard. Evans kissed her on the cheek. "You did the right thing. It was just meant to be. He would have died anyway."  
Catherine spoke for the first time since arriving in Tortuga the day before. "Yes, he may have. But it didn't have to be at my hands."  
"Catherine, you can't keep beating yourself up over this," Evans said, "Yes, Ryan Barbossa is dead, but that's over with. We've moved on, we're going back home, starting a new life. Maybe it would be good for you if you did the same."  
Jack Sparrow smiled after swallowing a mouthful of rum. "Look on the bright side, eh?" he said, "You've got young Evans here, ready to give his life for you, and instead of having two lads to fight over you, the decision is already made. And Evans here is unscathed and ready to-"  
At this, Will Turner cut in before Jack could say something stupid, as he most assuredly would. "Jack Sparrow, I insist you hold your tongue," Will ordered with a slight grin. "You don't want to be suggesting anything about my daughter while I'm around."  
Jack took another pull from his glass and looked up defensively. "I was just going to state the obvious, is all."  
Catherine glared at him for a moment, a feeling in her stomach about what he would have said. "In any case, I will be glad to get home. It will be nice to take a load off my feet for awhile."  
After a moment's silence, Gibbs rose, picking up his now-empty beaker. "Anyone else game fer another'n?" he asked. Evans, Catherine, and Will shook their heads absently, but Jack took him up on the offer.  
"I'd be happy to," Jack said, standing to join Gibbs. Taking their cups, Gibbs and Jack departed to the bar for a refill, leaving the others to their own thoughts.  
A moment after the pair left the three in silence, a wiry, thin aging man stumbled over to the group, causing Catherine, who was seated closest to the edge, to jump in alarm. Quickly, Evans put his arm around her protectively, and the clearly inebriated old man rose. The man had a thinning crop of silvery hair and a toothless grin. He wore nothing other than a pair of tattered and mud stained pants and a weather-beaten long coat, and one of his eyes was a glassy platinum blue color. His grey beard was tangled beyond help and was stained red in places from spilling his liquor. The man slunk over to lean on the bench that Catherine and Evans sat upon and pointed a long, knobby finger at the young pair.  
"The Fates," he rasped slowly and almost unintelligibly, "once said that he who kills is killed in return, and he who would curse bears that which he wished upon another."  
Catherine drew in closer to Evans as the man spoke, his eyes rolling about in his head. "Wait," she asked, not understanding his meaning, "wh-what do you mean?" But the man had left, gone as suddenly as he had appeared.

Will turned his head slowly to look at Catherine and Evans, a strange and concerned look on his face. "Who was that?" he asked rhetorically, "Or better yet, _what_ was it?"  
"I'm just curious about what the blazes he was talking about," Evans said, rubbing Catherine's shoulder comfortingly.  
"Well," Catherine supplied, "the one thing i do know is that that was a little strange."  
Just then, Gibbs and Jack reappeared, each with a full, sloshing glass of rum. "What was strange?" Gibbs inquired, taking a seat beside Will.  
The three others looked tentatively at one another for a moment. Will smiled sheepishly. "Well..." he began.

"Thank you sir. Master Evans; let's get that sail up. Will, would you be so kind as to take the helm for a moment? Good man," Jack's voice echoed across the deck of the _Pursuit_.  
It was the next morning, and the five companions were preparing for their departure form the port in Tortuga. The docks were alive with the sound of hammering, shifting canvas, and the shouts of men as the hot Caribbean sun rose steadily into the cloudless blue sky.   
"Catherine!" Jack barked at the young woman from his place across the deck. "Catherine! Are you going to stand there all day, staring down at the waves, or are you going to lend your sweetheart a hand with those sails?"  
The young woman, who had until then been gazing silently into space, snapped back into reality. Walking over to join Evans, she was immediately apologetic.  
"I'm sorry, Ryan. Really I am. I just can't get Barbossa off my mind. And now, with what that man said last night...I can't help but think I was wrong to kill him."  
Evans briefly hugged her, looking down into her chocolate-colored eyes, a loving smile on his clear face. "Don't worry. We'll be home within a day or so, and we can start a new life together. You'll see. Everything will be set right," he said, kissing her, "I promise."  
"If you say so," she replied with a dubious smile. The pair set to loosing the sails while Will and Jack steered the _Pursuit_ out of the port and set a course for Port Royal. The very next morning, just as the sun was beginning its ascent into the heavens, a familiar strip of horizon came into view.  
"Land ho!" came the shout from the rigging as Will, Catherine, and Evans rushed to the ship's edge to see the growing shape of Port Royal as it came closer. Soon, the _Pursuit_ pulled into a back dock, out of view of the main harbor. While Will and Catherine threw ropes over the side of the ship, Evans hopped onto the dock with Gibbs to tie them. Jack remained at the helm, staring over the horizon.  
"Erm, Jack?" Evans posed, pausing momentarily in his work, "W - would you mind lending me a hand?"  
Jack seemed to snap out of some reverie and turned to face the boy. "I would, dear boy, were I not the only one looking out, ye see. Think of this - in the event that I were to lend this hypothetical hand, leaving no one to keep a weather eye on the goings-on in this little harbor, what if some devilish fiend in the grand style of one former Commodore Norrington decided to hijack our little _Pursuit_ and kill us all? Now, I don't know about you, but that doesn't sound like much of a good time to me."  
Evans stood silent for a moment, one eyebrow raised at Jack, who had since turned back to his watch. With a shake of his head, Evans went back to his work. Gibbs chuckled.  
"What's so funny?" Evans asked, indignant.  
"It's just that ye would think that after knowin' Jack Sparrow as long as ye have, ye would know that he ain't one to do an easy favor," Gibbs laughed in reply.  
Evans set his jaw, looking briefly at Gibbs out of the corner of his eye. "Well, I'm done anyway," he muttered, tying the last of the ropes to the dock. He caught Catherine as she hopped down onto the dock and with Will, Jack, and Gibbs, the pair started off down the road towards the Turners' home.

Meanwhile, at the Turner household, a search was on. The youngest Turners, thirteen-year-old twins Michael and James, had been missing for several hours, and Elizabeth was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Though she constantly reminded herself that nothing could possibly go wrong, that they were just boys being boys, her maternal instincts kept her wary. She had scoured the house from floor to ceiling at least eight times to no avail.  
"Victoria!" Elizabeth called, starting to wring her hands unconsciously, "Victoria, have you had any luck yet?"  
The Turners' other daughter, Victoria, recently turned fifteen, came slowly down the grand staircase in their house, shaking her head. "Mother," she said with a scowl, "They're boys. They're bound to get out sometime. And besides, Father and Catherine and the rest are due back any day. The way the twins idolize Jack Sparrow and that Evans chap, it's little wonder if they were down at the docks waiting for them."  
Elizabeth gasped, letting loose a slight sigh of relief. "Oh, that's right. Wait - that's right! What are we doing sitting around here? We have to get ready for when they arrive! Quick," she said, dashing to the side of the stairway and sliding back a trick panel. Elizabeth pulled out a bundle of clothing from the hidden compartment and handed some of the bundle to Victoria. "Put these on. Oh, I don't know if they'll fit - but, all the same, we can't have you dressed as - "  
Victoria unfolded the clothing her mother had handed her as Elizabeth talked with increasing speed. She held up a hand to halt her mother for a moment. "Wait, Mother. First of all, why on Earth do you have shirts and breeches hidden under the stairs?"  
Elizabeth stopped talking and stared at her daughter, panting slightly. She looked first at the clothing Victoria was holding up, then at her daughter. "Oh," she answered with a slight nervous chuckle, "no reason."


End file.
